


the roses are fading now

by ell (amywaited)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Anxiety, Anxious Carlos, Carlos has anxiety, Cute, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, hot mess cecil, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24260698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amywaited/pseuds/ell
Summary: He takes his hand, feels the familiar zing their skin makes when they touch, and follows Cecil outside. He opens the passenger side door for him, because it's a gentlemanly thing to do, and also Cecil’s car doesn’t exactly have handles like Carlos’s does and he’s not sure if Cecil actually knows how to use them properly.The journey downtown takes eight minutes, accounting for evening traffic. The reservation at the restaurant is for half past seven, and if they leave now, then they’ll have time for a five minute make-out session in the parking lot before going inside.Carlos starts the car. Cecil’s grin fuels him all the way there.
Relationships: Carlos/Cecil Palmer
Comments: 11
Kudos: 40





	the roses are fading now

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy this!!!
> 
> title from [a rose for emily](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gs-bVMs1LKU) by the zombies (which is from one of my most favourite albums ever)
> 
> also, if the style seems different in the first few paragraphs, its because this started life as a different piece in an entirely different fandom with an entirely different goal. so... look past that, if you can.

Carlos tells himself he’s used to it. 

He’s not, not really. He doubts he ever will be. He doesn’t know if he ever wants to be, really. 

Who will he be, who will he become, when he isn’t being  _ this _ ? And despite the fact that he doesn’t quite know what  _ this  _ is, and whilst he’s not even sure he wants to, there ought to be something better. Or perhaps there’s something worse, and perhaps he’s just prolonging the inevitable (although, he supposes, that’s all anyone is ever doing. Prolonging the inevitable. They were built for death, he tells himself, not for living). 

Little wax paper soldiers, coloured out of the lines. Building block people, he thinks, telling their stories in his head. Each one ends in a desensitised replica of heartbreak and inevitability. Because that’s all they do, live for death and no further. That’s all he’ll do. And it’s mostly reassuring.

Carlos takes a deep breath and steps into the lobby of Cecil’s apartment building. 

He’s only been here twice. The first time had been after the incident at the bowling alley, and the evening they’d spent together. He’d walked in holding Cecil’s hand before he’d even realised where he was. When he had, his heart had seized up and Cecil had kissed him good night and Carlos had deliberately made sure they wouldn’t see each other until at least four days later. 

The second time, Cecil had left a sweater at Carlos’s and he had to return it, only Cecil had been busy at the station. Carlos had had to leave it with the doorman and hope that it’d make it’s way back to Cecil eventually. Both times, his heart had near enough stopped and his hands had shook, so he’d stayed as far away from Cecil’s apartment building as he possibly could, at least until he’d figured out what it was that was so unsettling about it. 

It meant Cecil had been picking him up for dates, or coming back to his place to stay the night. And Carlos was absolutely perfectly fine with that. Waking up with Cecil in his bed, it was a privilege that Carlos revelled in. 

But sometimes, things happen. Like today, when Cecil’s car broke down (and it may or may not be related to the string of almost-homicides and ghost possessions. Cecil hadn’t given him a definitive answer, and Carlos had decided not to ask too much). It means Carlos has to pick Cecil up for their state-mandated weekly meal at Rico’s.

Cecil is waiting by the elevator. Which is a good thing, because it means Carlos doesn’t have to go farther than three steps inside before Cecil waves and beams and hurries over to kiss him on the forehead, then the lips, and finally the nose. 

“Carlos! I’m so glad you’re here,” he says. “You look wonderful!”

Carlos fiddles with the drawstring on his hoodie, which is navy green and has holes in the cuffs, which he’s stuck his thumbs through. He tries not to think about the black jeans (which were once supposed to be skinny, but have gotten kind of saggy in the ass). “Thanks,” he says. “You too.”

Cecil’s wearing a mesh orange cropped top, with a blue tank underneath, bright pink sneakers, and a pair of lemon yellow flare pants. It’s like a colour wheel threw up on him. Carlos thinks he looks beautiful. 

“You’re too sweet,” Cecil tells him, tapping his nose. “I’m sorry I had to make you pick me up.”

“It’s not your fault your car broke down.”

“No,” Cecil agrees, sounding like it actually probably was his fault but he doesn’t want to give out any of the details. “Are you ready?”

Carlos nods, because he’s ready to get out of Cecil’s lobby. He takes his hand, feels the familiar zing their skin makes when they touch, and follows Cecil outside. He opens the passenger side door for him, because it's a gentlemanly thing to do, and also Cecil’s car doesn’t exactly have handles like Carlos’s does and he’s not sure if Cecil actually knows how to use them properly. 

The journey downtown takes eight minutes, accounting for evening traffic. The reservation at the restaurant is for half past seven, and if they leave now, then they’ll have time for a five minute make-out session in the parking lot before going inside. 

Carlos starts the car. Cecil’s grin fuels him all the way there. 

* * *

Carlos asks, “do you want to stay the night?” as soon as Cecil has a full mouthful.

He nods, though, and grins widely once he’s swallowed. There’s a tiny piece of spinach stuck between his incisors. “I’d love to!”

So Carlos takes Cecil back to his apartment, and Cecil kisses him on the couch for a while. Then, he kisses him in the bed for even longer. When Cecil falls asleep, Carlos hooks their legs together and holds onto his fingers, eagerly waiting for the morning, when Cecil will practically glow in the rising sun and he’ll be soft, and sleepy, and beautiful. 

* * *

Except, when Cecil wakes up and blinks and rubs a hand over his face, he asks, “why don’t you ever come to my apartment?”

He looks beautiful right now, Carlos thinks. He looks like he utterly belongs in Carlos’s bed, with the beginnings of a sun streaming through his curtains, turning the entire room soft and fuzzy around the edges. 

“What?” he says, because he’s not sure quite what Cecil’s asking, or what he should be answering it with. 

“I spend a lot of time here,” Cecil explains. “I pick you up for dates, and drop you home. But you never come to my apartment. You barely even go into the lobby. Why? Do you not like it?”

“No, I…”

“It’s fine if you don’t! I was just curious, Carlos,” Cecil says hurriedly, like he thinks he’s insulted Carlos. 

“It’s fine,” Carlos says. It feels a bit like he’s stepping through a minefield. “I just… I don’t know. Your apartment is great, I’m just afraid.”

“Why are you afraid?”

Carlos sighs. He bites his lip, and then curls them over one another. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” Cecil shrugs, and then says like it’s perfectly normal, “Maybe it’s the demon in the basement. It’d make anyone feel uneasy.”

“The what?”

“The demon in the basement.”

“You have a demon in the basement of your apartment building?” Carlos repeats. 

“Yes,” Cecil says. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“No?”

Cecil makes a face like he doesn’t believe him. “Well, her name is Aurosmodeus. She’s quite lovely, really. Always makes sure my laundry is finished on time. The washing machines are sometimes temperamental, you see.”

“You  _ talk _ to the demon in the basement of your apartment building?” Carlos asks. 

“Of course I talk to her, silly. What else would I do - ignore her?” says Cecil, “that would be incredibly rude.”

“I know,” Carlos says. Of course it would be rude. “I just meant… most people don’t have demons in their apartment blocks. I guess I’m just not used to it.”

“I can tell her to tone it down for a bit,” Cecil offers. “Or you could meet her!”

“You mean, go down to the basement and talk to the demon there?”

“Yes,” Cecil says, like he can’t at all tell what any of the problems with that might be. 

“Um,” Carlos says. 

“It’ll be fine,” Cecil says, “we can go later today. I’m sure she doesn’t mean to make you feel uneasy; it’s just sometimes, the demons do that to outsiders. You’re not used to them.”

“I’m not sure exposure to them is the best way to counteract that,” Carlos says. He tries not to let on how badly he doesn’t actually want to go and meet Aurosmodeus. She’ll tear him apart like a wet paper bag, he’s sure, and all humans were born to die. 

“I don’t want you to be afraid of my apartment,” Cecil says. “We don’t have to. If you don’t want to.”

“I’ll meet her,” Carlos decides. Paper chain dolls and the inevitability of death and all, he wants to wake up in Cecil’s bed and see how the sun rises in his bedroom, too. 

* * *

Aurosmodeus is actually rather nice. She looks like a sentient blob of goo, piled up on a washing machine-dryer combo, and she sounds like she’s smoked a pack a day since before the dawn of time, and she’s far more touchy-feely than Carlos would be comfortable with, but she’s nice. 

She reaches out a tendril of gloop and strokes through Cecil’s hair. “Have you brought your Scientist to meet me?”

Cecil giggles. Carlos hasn’t ever seen him giggle like that before. “Yes, I have. Aurosmodeus, I’d like you to meet Carlos.”

Carlos glances at Cecil, dubiously. Then he steps slightly closer, and Aurosmodeus reaches out another tendril to sift through Carlos’s hair. It’s like having Jell-O poured on his head, but it doesn’t leave any residue. Short of his initial forthcomings and discomfort, this is actually pretty easy. 

“Carlos,” Aurosmodeus says. Her voice (if it even is a voice) echoes through Carlos’s entire body. “You’re afraid.”

Carlos nods. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“You’re from the outside,” she grumbles, “of course you’re afraid. It says a lot of your intentions that you’re here in the first place.”

“What do- what does that mean?” Carlos asks. 

“You’ve dedicated yourself to Cecil,” she says. Cecil blushes. “You would do anything for him, wouldn’t you?”

“Aurosmodeus! Don’t embarrass me, please,” Cecil says. His blush is incredibly attractive. 

“Yes,” Carlos agrees with her. It feels like he shouldn’t lie, so he doesn’t. “I would.”

“Carlos!” Cecil tries to say. 

“Good,” Aurosmodeus says. She removes her goop from Carlos’s hair, and he’s secretly glad it’s gone. She removes it from Cecil’s hair too, and says, “by the way, Cecil, your laundry is done. Don’t forget to collect it later.”

Cecil, if possible, blushes even brighter. Despite the fact that Carlos has seen his laundry, and also gotten up close and sort of personal with his laundry several times. He thinks if Aurosmodeus had a humanoid form, she’d be winking at him. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! let me know ur thoughts.
> 
> i promise ill write something with more substance soon - im currently switching out my meds & starting a new block of therapy so my screws are even looser than they usually are. it appears to be impacting my ability to write a bit.
> 
> that said, writing these slice of life fics is helping a lot! theyre super fun, and a lot less pressure than the usual 'standards' i hold myself to, so i hope people are enjoying them. 
> 
> anyway, throwing caution to the wind, if anyone wants to come and chat w/ me, u can say hi on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/magiceIl) if u like (on the condition that you're nice to me, since im made out of flesh and anxiety).


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